The Results of My Naivety
by eternallystberry
Summary: At sixteen, Rachel Berry thinks she knows what she wants. Teenagers always know what's best for them, after all. Jesse St. James merely serves as collateral. A series of decisions leads to an outcome, and Rachel may not be so happy with the results. Two-parts, in progress, St. Berry/Brochel/Finchel
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I will admit, I forgot I had a fanfiction account. And I also stopped writing. But I never stopped loving St. Berry, so that may be why I've suddenly taken an interest in writing again. That, and the fact that I have an amazing couple of friends on Tumblr that have convinced me I might have some writing talent and to, quote, "F*CKING WRITE MORE BECAUSE YOUR WORDS MAKE ME HAPPY"

This fic is the result of many drabbles that I tried to tie together. The outcome is probably pretty disastrous, but hell. It's going to be two parts. I haven't even started the second part, so it may not be published for another couple of weeks. It depends on my creative process.

I do not like Finchel by any means, and although there are strong undertones of Finchel in this fic, they aren't, how they say, endgame here. I really like Brochel, however, and I kind of feel bad for how I used his character here, but I love St. Berry.

* * *

According to Finn, the best part about their relationship, or clandestine affair as Rachel had coined it, was that Jesse St. James had no idea about it. That should've been her first hint. Their pretense of friendship at school, along with the preconceived notion of everyone at school that she would never cheat, gave the two enough leeway to fully explore their unresolved feelings for each other. Infidelity was against all her principles and morals, and Jesse is great, he truly is. He understands her, he's certainly able to keep up with her both vocally and intellectually, and when they sing together he always proves to be a worthy opponent in their fights for vocal dominance. He has her same overdramatic tendencies. He's just as much an orchestrator as she is when he openly agreed to discuss the schematics of their approaching consummation, her words, not his, when she had finally agreed to being ready, and even added his own input on the 'sexual itinerary' Rachel had regulated.

He's a perfect dichotomy of pure sex and innocence, of badass and the role of a caring boyfriend, of insecurity behind his superiority complex and confidence that could easily be confused with arrogance. If she's being honest, he's everything she was ever wanted in a boy, and has even surpassed her expectations. For the first time in her life, she has found someone who has a love of performing that rivals hers. She loves that they're both devoted to Broadway and theater and can easily see the two of them taking New York by storm, but can just as easily see herself marrying him and settling down to have gorgeous, curly-haired babies, even though she knows he would never ask her to compromise her dreams.

There's only one problem. When she finds herself engulfed in the arms of Finn Hudson, the object of her affection for longer than she can remember, she doesn't feel what she should, the giddy throes of a friendship. Instead, she feels different. But a different that feels _right_. Safe. Being with Finn impairs her judgment, and so as much as she liked to have full control of her faculties, she likes the jolt that coursed through her when her eyes met Finn's in the choir room. So she resigns herself to keeping up her act with Jesse, only to rendezvous with Finn behind closed doors. It's a recipe for disaster, but it's a risk Rachel is willing to take.

"You have to promise me," she had whispered late one night after both she and Finn had worn themselves out from, _you know_, and had decided to spend the rest of the night in bed, "that you won't tell _anyone_. No one can know."

"Of course, Rach," Finn had murmured into her hair, "I love you."

Rachel had believed him.

That may have been her first mistake.

**[Insert page break here]**

It wasn't until three months into her affair with Finn when he seemed to decide they didn't need to take precautions anymore, and unabashedly passes her a note during show choir rehearsal. She seethes at his behavior (she was sitting with Jesse's arm around her waist, for Barbra's sake) but accepts the note, as judicious in her conduct as she can manage. It isn't fair for Finn to watch Jesse kiss her, hold her, nuzzle his nose into her neck and whisper sweet nothings in her ear, and she knows that. But they need a cover, and Finn need to _keep it in his pants_ at school if he didn't want to forfeit his right to touch her.

Her second mistake is _playing along_.

It's later when the tall boy sidles up to Rachel at her locker, deriving forgiveness from the girl with only that little side smile that seems to work wonders, that Finn wants Rachel to change. Her skirts are simply _too short_, and they only serve the purpose of alternatively frustrating him and frustrating the rest of the male student body. It annoys Finn that guys are leering at Rachel like she's some prize to be won. It also annoys him that Rachel won't let him stake his claim on her so that other guys know to keep their eyes to themselves, and if they ever try to touch her, with or without her consent, he will have to teach them that staring is not polite. Plus, they're _personifying_ her.

So as Finn stands there as Rachel trades her French book for the one of trigonometry, he says lightly, "I don't like how Jesse keeps looking at you, Rachel. Stop wearing those skirts."

Rachel blinks for a moment, thinking he's either joking around or offering her a backhanded compliment.

"Of course, I'll just wear clothes designed to be more boyfriend deterrent," she quips.

Finn doesn't seem to find her all that funny.

Rachel reasons that he probably just doesn't know what deterrent meant.

"Good," is all he says before he stalks away in that clumsy, bumbling manner of his that she used to find endearing. Truth be told, his lack of coordination is on the fast track to becoming one of his (many) qualities she's beginning to resent.

Taking her regular gait, Rachel walks off to her next class, her brow furrowed. She tries to remember her reasoning as to why she agreed to be with Finn when all she can see when she closes her eyes is Jesse standing next to her as she reaches the highest echelons of success.

**[Insert page break here]**

They're studying, and Rachel is looking at her notes as if it could be a script for a role she wants on Broadway, and her facial expression and concentrated focus of her eyes make it clear that she wants it to be a script, even if it is just a school assignment. Jesse watches her, his mouth curving into that real, genuine smile that she likes so much. He loves her, and not just for her musical virtuosity or her voice. He loves her for being Rachel Berry.

Jesse St. James isn't an idiot. He knows. The indiscreet passing of that note in the choir room only confirmed what he had been suspecting since he had caught Rachel staring longingly at Finn not once, twice, but_ three_ times when she had thought neither of them were looking. He knew that something had been kindled between the two before he had come into the picture, not that Rachel had ever offered to give him such background on their romance, but knowing that he wasn't enough for a girl like Rachel Berry, well, that hurt a lot more than just his ego.

It was becoming increasingly hard to broach the subject the longer he watched Rachel and her disarmingly cute tendencies, but he did. "What are we doing?" is the question Jesse poses after about an hour of neglecting his studies in favor of memorizing every inch of Rachel Berry's face.

"Jesse," Rachel answers after a sufficiently long pause to show that the question asked is a trivial one, at least to her, "we are studying."

Jesse nods.

Once Rachel focuses again on her compendium about the War of 1812, he can't hold it in anymore. He loves her, but he can't do this. "In less than your standard paragraph, if possible," he begins, "tell me what the note Finn gave you is in regard to."

"What?"

"How long?" he manages to ask. He won't cry in front of her. He doesn't _cry_. He didn't cry when he was eleven and his parents didn't so much send him a birthday card from Bali. It's just not something he does.

The fact that a tear slips from his eye shows that contrary to popular belief, he does have a heart, and emotions, and isn't as soulless as everyone makes him out to be.

The answer is two months.

Jesse doesn't know what to feel anymore.

He remembers the first time they had exchanged proclamations of love. It was after they had performed a dance sequence to Madonna that had, of course, served the purpose of being the prelude to the planned intercourse that Rachel had mapped out for them. It was after Rachel had deferred their plans to make love for the _sake of the team_. They had cuddled the remainder of the night, the picture of propriety, with Rachel still donning the short nightgown that Jesse hadn't allowed her to change out of. Assuming Rachel had fallen asleep after a while, if his hair-stroking ministrations had held their desired effect, he felt free to whisper, "I love you, Rachel Berry."

Imagine his surprise when Rachel turned her head, looked up at him with _those eyes_, and said in an equally soft whisper, "I wanted to say that first."

**[Insert page break here]**

His reaction is not one that could be characterized by anger. Resigning herself to the sharp rowels of something like panic, she allowed not one word to inquire about why he wasn't _doing anything_. He simply stood, epitomizing composure, blue eyes watching her, questioning. From within those blue eyes, on many occasions, Jesse had conveyed to her his every emotion, but now they were apathetic. She looked at him solicitously, wondering, for a moment, if conspiring against her now that he retained the knowledge of her disloyalty. She had breached his trust. He _has_ to be angry.

"Please," Rachel pleads, incapable of looking at anything besides her feet, "_say_ something. Scream at me. Tell me that I'm a horrible person. Accuse me of using you. Conduct a proper storm-out. Just—" Trying to swallow, but failing in her attempts, Rachel hugs herself, the action intended to offer her a semblance of comfort she didn't deserve. "I can't," she tries again, "Jesse, I-I'm sorry you had to find out this way. If the concept of hell was advocated by Jews, I suppose I could say that my indiscretions have earned me a spot there, right next to—"

Shuffling footsteps are subsequent to a lamenting sigh and then he's in front of her, her wrists captured in his hold, and then gently, reverently, and without a sound of protest from the girl, he somehow manages to pull her body against the length of his. Finding herself becoming subject to Jesse's influence, she tried to convince herself to draw back, but the contours of their bodies fit together so _perfectly_, and there was finally a perceptible sign of Jesse's reaction—a fire in his eyes not one of hate, but of passion.

His lips finding her cheek, the skin alighting under the contact, a smile registers on her face as she has the revelation of just how much of a _stupid teenage girl_ she truly is, as much as she likes to think that the label didn't apply to her.

Their faces are millimeters apart. The distance between them is, for lack of a better word, annoying. Not knowing the protocol for what to do after making the admission that she cheated, though, she figures it isn't proper etiquette to kiss him. Jesse, however, seems to have other ideas.

"You belong with _me_, Rachel Berry." Jesse says in a way that makes it clear the statement as not up for discussion.

"Finn will never be able to kiss you like I can," he whispers.

"Finn will never be able to touch you like I can," he murmurs.

"Finn will never love you like I can," he concedes. He's right, of course.

But Rachel still says, "If we belong together so much, why am I in love with Finn?"

In the end, she makes the right choice.

She thinks.

**[Insert page break here]**

"I think you're really sexy," she hears. By this point, she's conspiring against herself. The influence of the boy in front of her is to blame for the precedence her romantic appetite has taken over her judgment. When he leans in to kiss her, she doesn't plan to object. The action is welcome. She likes this boy. He is very different from the boys she has pursued, and in the few times she has compared him to former boyfriends, he's only _marginally_ similar. She doesn't have a type.

In the scheme of things, she feels they belong together. Rachel likes to believe fate had something to do with their encounter in the showers. Part of her heart will always appertain to Finn, but she doesn't love him the way she needs to in order to contribute to a distant relationship. Frankly, she doesn't want to carry a torch for him anymore. She wants to cast off that girl she once was, the girl who pinned and wanted everything too much, and she wants to find the girl she ventured to New York to be. She's an unwilling candidate in the race for Finn's heart. Rachel wants to be completely focused, especially if she aims to win her first Tony by the time she is twenty-five. That's the plan.

In the first edition, romantic interests hadn't been condoned, instead labeled unnecessary distractions from her aspirations, but she had not taken into account that she would come across a boy named Brody Weston.

Lips meeting, Rachel becomes enamored. This boy, who _exudes_ sex appeal by simply _being_, is kissing her and she can't remember the last time she felt so _alive_. The passion she brings to the kiss is requited by Brody, who seems to have an exceptional amount of knowledge in this department. She opens her eyes while she tries to regain her breath after they break contact to stare into blue, blue eyes and she's struck with an image of a boy who is not Brody, nor Finn, but Jesse St. James.

"Brody," she finds herself saying, "I can't."

"You're still in love with your boyfriend, aren't you?" He's referring to the boy of which she has many pictures stored in her phone.

She replies with a shake of her head, but the sorry attempt at reassurance doesn't convince either party.

"No," she tries again, "I just—"

"Rachel," The fact that Brody is able to say her name as though he has said it a thousand times doesn't bode well with Rachel's attempt to evade his advances. "Here's the thing. I will respect your boundaries, but just know, whenever we're together, whatever we're doing, I'm thinking of kissing you again."

She figures she should let him leave, but there's this part of her that's unwilling to watch him go. The goodbye is very reminiscent to one she had before, with a boy she really, truly loved, and so maybe her need for him to stay has more to do with the second chance at hand than Brody himself, but whatever the case may be, she rushes after him, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him firmly.

There's only a _twinge_, if that, of guilt that she wishes that she was kissing someone else. She likes Brody. He's delighted her beyond measure, and she really, truly wants to explore her options and _move the hell on_ from her past relationships.

Finn Hudson and Jesse St. James were her past.

She recites this to herself like a mantra while she leads Brody to her bed.

**[Insert page break here]**

The light of morning peeks through her windows, and Rachel Berry opens one eye, squints in protest at the time, and closes it, only to open both eyes moments later. She is suddenly very aware of the decidedly male body she's spooning, along with her state of undress and the pain emanating from _down there_. She wants to smile when she recalls the activities from last night so she does, but it's a little forced.

One of the first things she wonders is where the hell Kurt is, what he thinks of the rapport she's formed with this older, wiser, sexy college guy, and if he walked into their apartment in the middle of one of the loud, pleasurable, mind-blowing rounds of intercourse she had partaken in. She can only imagine what teasing she will have subjected herself to if he had, knowing that Kurt would undoubtedly go to great lengths to poke fun at her, perhaps going as far as to make _congrats on the sex_ cake. He was never one for euphemisms.

Just to recap, she's in her apartment, she's naked, and she's in her bed, the bed with the _very _pink sheets she had brought with her, much to Kurt's chagrin, two pillows, and the scratchy blanket that Kurt had brought not for sleeping with, exactly, but for looking at. There's soft music crooning from the radio at her bedside.

The best part about sex, Rachel muses while she makes an attempt at flattening what she can only assume is the worst case of bedhead in the history of ever, is the knowing. She thinks about how being connected so intimately grants each party the opportunity of completely understand the other, and vice versa.

Gently, as to not wake her sleeping company, she slips from under his arm and peeks at him, or what she can see of him. It seems she has stripped him of his half of the covers, so everything, _everything_ is on display but his head, which is covered with a pillow. She's looking at _him _with a profound interest to the male anatomy, in the middle of giving him silent acclaim for his size when he stirs.

The worst part is, when he manages to sit upright, he catches her naked form staring at his, you know, male organ of copulation, and he's_ not_ Brody.

She's about to whisper, "Good morning, lover," when the idea that the 'morning after' begin with conversational pleasantries was replaced a need, actuated by shock and vulnerability, to not be so _naked_. Jesse St. James is sitting in _her_ bed, in _her_ apartment, in _her_ city having the audacity to look bemused about Rachel giving more than an oblique glance at his _junk_ and seemingly having no intention to cover himself up. Falling out of bed, and therefore giving Jesse the chance to survey her in daylight, wasn't planned, but she was reeling from the shock of seeing her ex-boyfriend and the revelation that they must have _slept_ together, when she had thought, through her drunken haze, that Brody had been the boy in her bed.

Rachel tries to use her arms to shield her chest while squeezing her legs together, all in hopes of maintaining a level of dignity, while she reaches for a sheet.

"Like what you see?" Unabashedly, he begins to stroke himself. "Or are you ready for another round?"

"Wh—what are _you_ doing here?"

She says 'you' with the contempt she usually saves for those who tried to steal her solos.

He just looks at her.

"Wh—where's Brody? Why aren't you Brody?" she demands.

"Rach—" Genuine concern seemed to define Jesse St. James, but Rachel was busy on the verge of hyperventilating and didn't notice.

"Wh—what happened last night?" By this point, she's entered a period of emotional instability, her breath is coming out in pants, and she's _terrified_.

"Ra—"

"How did you get here? What—"

"R—"

Saving the best for last, Rachel shrieks, "DID YOU RAPE ME?"

"I resent that accusation, Rachel." Jesse fumes, finally having the good sense to wrap a sheet around his waist. He approaches her as though in effort to offer comfort or reassurance, but seems to think better of it, if her frightened eyes are any indication, and stops a few feet short of where she stands. "Do you honestly not remember?"

"Why aren't you Brody?" she tries again. She doesn't have any memory of Brody leaving and Jesse taking his place. Her eyes squeeze shut as she tries to remember.

The noise of the city awakening draws Rachel out of her reverie and both of them to the window. They stand in silence while they watch the day come to life. All of humanity seems to be out and about on the streets of New York at eight in the morning. Swelling cries of people, honking of horns, barking of dogs, drilling in construction sites, and all heard that associates with her urban surroundings is what she chooses to focus on, even though she can feel Jesse's eyes on her. "Look, Rach," he begins.

"Don't call me that," she yips, "You forfeited those rights—"

"When _you_ broke up with _me_ to run off with Finn?" booms Jesse. "And how did that work out for you, anyway? Something must have gone awry if you're so eager to—"

"Did we have sex last night?" The question is meek.

"Baby—"

"Did we or did we not?"

"Sweetheart—"

"It's a yes or no question, Jesse."

"We—you called me last night and said you had a proposition for me. I came over, one thing led to another and—"

"Oh my god,"

"You said you wanted—"

"No."

"You said you never stopped—"

"_No_."

"You said you still loved—"

"Jesse, I was _inebriated_. I may have said and done a lot of things I didn't mean or intend to." The words are spit at him, and she feels bad as soon as she's said them. It's not his fault. He's the victim, or at least that's how he has made it seem. She begins to storm away, when his hand catches her arm, and she forgets how to breathe.

"Aren't you going to at least allow me the pleasure of making you breakfast? A gentleman never lets a lady leave without feeding her first."

"This is _my_ apartment," retorts Rachel, ripping her arm free of his grasp. Catching sight of herself in the reflection of the window, she frowns at her appearance and again tries to arrange her hair to not fall in such disarray, but before she knows it, Jesse captures her hands in his, effectively stopping her ministrations. "Has anyone ever told you how pretty you look in the morning?" he whispers. Instead of alcohol, he smells like toast.

The smell garnered by her olfactory senses reminds her of simpler times.

**Author's Note:** I would greatly appreciate a review.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I'm back! Did you miss me?

* * *

"I'm really sorry about the other night."

Rachel hasn't been able to greet her caller properly before, without preamble, he's apologizing, the spoken expression of his regret offered in extenuation of the turn of events the night before that wasn't really his fault. She smiles a bit, the corners of her mouth turning up into a facial expression that denotes how much she likes this boy. The fact that they're on the basis where neither has to identify themselves when they call makes it seem like they've been friends for years, as opposed to the few months she's been at NYADA.

"My grandmother," he continues, "she's okay. It was just a little scare."

She emits a sigh of relief, sinking back into her seat, finding herself pressed up against a hard chest. "That's good news. When you'd gotten the call about her stroke, you seemed devastated. Are you close to her?"

"We're close," Brody admits, and his voice crackles a bit due to the bad reception Rachel has garnered in the subway. "Luckily, she's strong and she pulled through. That's all that matters."

"I'm glad to hear she's okay." Rachel commiserates, "And don't worry about last night. I understand that your family is your top priority."

She's glad that she's remembered at least part of the night before, when Brody had left and Jesse had replaced him—even if she had drunk herself to oblivion. One thing is for sure: alcohol certainly wasn't her friend.

The person whose lap she was currently sitting on shifts in his seat, and Rachel is reminded of just who she's sitting _on_. Her eyes fall to look at the floor and, in consequence, a pair of rather large shoes, and she can't help but think of what people say about how the size of a guy's feet correlates to the size of their dicks.

"I know I didn't fill the dream date role last night," Brody concedes, and if not for his voice resonating through the line, Rachel wouldn't have realized that she was entertaining wholly inappropriate thoughts about her ex-boyfriend amidst a conversation with her, well, friend-with-benefits.

"Don't sell yourself short," she replies to his self-deprecation, about to indulge him further with a highly uncharacteristic sexual innuendo when hot breath blows against her neck, lips find a trail to her ear, and she's thankful she's sitting, knowing otherwise her knees would have given out from under her.

Refusing to condone his ministrations has never stopped him before, so it's all a moot point to try to stop him, but she'll be hard-pressed to allow him the prerogative. Acquiescing to him, though, letting the phone slip from her ear, proving that she finds him irresistible, which she does, meant that he would _win_. And Rachel Berry has _always_ worn the pants in this relationship.

"Brody," she interjects, biting her lip in restraint, "I'm afraid I have to go deal with something annoying. I'm sorry. But I'm really glad to hear about your grandmother. Family is so important."

"Oh, okay," says Brody. He's disappointed in the call ending; she can relate.

"Okay," reiterates Rachel.

"Rach," a low voice manages, barely even masking his distaste, and in turn a hand squeezes her ass a little more through the pocket of her jeans, "Hang up the damn phone."

Ending the call, Rachel levels her glare on Jesse. His touch is burning her skin, not that she lets on. "I cannot even address how completely rude it was to make advances on me when I was on the phone with my _friend_."

"It's not my fault—"

"Keep it in your pants—"

"—you respond so greatly to my touch—"

"—we are in a public setting, you son of a—"

"Sorry you couldn't recapture that rapport once I began to seduce—"

"Everything is about you—"

"You're kind of sexy when you—"

The subway train jerks to a stop. Rachel is reminded of that morning. They'd sorted things out, Jesse had made it clear that their rounds of intercourse had been consensual, and they'd made amends. Partially, she had been so forgiving due to Jesse's bad bedhead, which had only made him all that more sexy.

She had been left to her own devices while Jesse had dressed, and on a sudden whim she had declared that she had wanted them to spend the day together, meandering the city, catching up. Doing things that _friends_ would do.

Of course, their pretense of friendship hadn't been kept long. One thing had led to another and suddenly reacquainting held a whole new meaning.

One thing that hadn't changed was how warm and loved it made her feel when she felt his eyes on her, looking at her like she had hung the moon.

She smiles a little, leans in and kisses his cheek.

His eyes widen in surprise, but only for a moment before that smug little grin of his returns. "What was that for?"

"For being you," she whispers lowly, her hand "accidentally" brushing his crotch as she stands. The simple act is enough to evoke his primal instincts, and all at once Rachel races off the subway, away from the look in Jesse's eye, while he chases her.

Neither Rachel nor Jesse paid any attention to the people they pass who watch them emulously, or the eccentric man who murmurs to himself about quarrels between lovers and begins panting loudly in what appears to be a form of a laugh.

He catches her, she falls into his arms, and they proceed to kiss until they're breathless.

**[Insert page break here.]**

After a spirited debate between the pair, some wheedling on her part, and a whispered promise of all the favors she'll do him later, she still hasn't managed to convince him to go to the Central Park Zoo—which only goes to show that Jesse St. James likes to push his luck. It's ridiculous, really, that he's so opposed to spending their afternoon surveying the animals, considering how _willing_ Rachel would be to express her gratitude if he consented, but he's never been anything but the definition of stubborn, so she can't say she's surprised.

If there's anything that Rachel had learned from him, however, it's how to play his game. After a great deal of guiding she was able to pass off as aimless, they end up on the corner of Fifth Avenue. She smiles as she feeds him a bite of the soft pretzel they're sharing, and it is then he seems to realize her plan, laughing at the lengths she went to get her way as he chews.

"I owe the new polar bear a visit," she says by way of explanation, her big eyes batting at him sweetly.

"Be that as it may," he intones, daring to be amused, "I'm afraid he's going to have to wait. We have a previous engagement to attend."

"But the bear—" protests the girl accustomed to doing what she wants, bordering on whining—a typical only child.

"—will understand," finishes Jesse. With that, he grabs her arm and breaks into a run. They run and run and run down Fifth Avenue until they're out of breath and gasping. Only it's no coincidence that they've stopped in front of the Empire State Building. Jesse slips his hand into hers, leaving her no choice but to follow his path into the building.

"Really," he says to her, "you thought I had forgotten?"

Her animation, or lack thereof, provides no answer. Due to her state of bliss, Rachel's mind is at ease, instead of racing a mile a minute in order to categorize all her thoughts.

"I know we're still under the pretense of being friends, even if all the events that transpired last night, this morning, and all of today are contradictory to that status, but I wanted to do this for you—for us."

_Huh?_

"I want to celebrate the forgiveness you've given me, and how I've managed to change my ways—proving that people _are_ capable of change if they put their heart in it. I've got no one to thank but you, Rachel."

_What?_

"It's been years, and although I don't want to recognize this day for what happened, it's important that—"

"What?" postulates Rachel, "We weren't—"

Her revelation almost _hurts_. She drops both his hand and her goofy smile with disparaging treatment, roweling herself to think the worst thoughts, assumes what she _knows_ isn't true. A knowing hand that reaches out to quell her impending assumptions does not stop all that ensues in her head.

"This is the anniversary of the day you egged me."

She doesn't sound as angry as she looks. If anything, she sounds lost.

"You want to celebrate," Rachel rejoins, "the day that you were finally able to achieve your own nefarious ends?"

He sends her a look that implies she's trying his patience, which only serves to further inflate her completely characteristic yet unwarranted overdramatic tendencies. What the girl before him doesn't know is that he has singlehandedly planned a surprise for her at the top of the Empire State Building but that her bout of overly emotional behavior, complete with her hands clenched into little fists and her cheeks flushing red, isn't exactly making it easy for him to get her to the stage where she concludes how different he has become and how worth her time he is.

In retrospect, he knows he probably should have waited until they had boarded the elevator to bring up anything about their past attempt at a relationship, which was indubitably a sore subject. He figures she had never really forgiven him for the way he had ended things between them, even if that was a ridiculous double standard, considering she had admitted to loving and cheating with _Finn Hudson_.

"Rachel," Jesse pacifies, "I think we've discussed the fact that my agenda with Shelby meant nothing to me once we began dating."

They're standing there in the lobby when Rachel makes the mistake of thinking he doesn't love her. Dredging up their past makes her begin to think that what they have now, in that moment, wasn't love but history. That only helps with the imminent death of any fantasies she had had with Jesse in them. Which were, admittedly, plentiful. Picture the two of them commemorating their newly-achieved Tonys under the covers in the shadow of the moonlight and you're halfway there.

Rachel forgoes a response, settling for looking anywhere but at him as she contemplates in typical Rachel Berry fashion the part of the movie where two lovers have no choice but to depart from the other, heartbroken.

She's blowing everything out of proportion, but it's not her fault that she now needs to second-guess what had been the best night of her life.

"Rachel, if anyone has a right to be angry and bitter about how we broke up, it's me, because the last time I checked I was the wronged party, the scorned lover, if you will_. You_ cheated on _me_. I do regret channeling all my anger into revenge against you, but somehow I believed it was perfectly warranted considering that you had broken my _heart_ and run off to _Finn Hudson_." He's aware of the fact his rebuttal could echo, so he whispers. Still, he thinks that by rallying all of his acting skills, and by using the very real pain that had consumed him post-Rachel, he's able to paint a pretty convincing picture even without raising his voice.

But Rachel Berry can be a hypocrite when she wants to.

"It's okay," she says at last, though the tone of voice she chooses suggests otherwise. "But is this—" She operates a finger in his direction then hers, incapable of putting a label on what they are, "—smart? Jesse, we haven't even talked about what happened—"

"So let's talk about it," he begs.

She shakes her head once. They've been avoiding their problems all day, too caught up in their romantic haze to give anything important any thought.

"You're being ridiculous," sighs Jesse, running a hand through his hair. He's tired of all the emotional consequences. Why can't love be _easy_?

"I know," she sadly concurs. Leaning in, she kisses his cheek. Then, with a sad smile, she turns and walks out of his life.

Jesse St. James is left standing there in the lobby of the Empire State Building without any idea as to when he had resigned himself to having no control over his own personal affairs. A surprise for the ages awaits Rachel at the top, not that she will ever see it, nor will he ever tell her about it.

Across the floor, he spies another couple in the same irony. The woman—tall, fiery hair, striking—throws the proffered rose to the floor, declaring (loudly) to the man on his knee that she can't very well accept his proposal if she wants to continue dating around,

Taking out his phone, he makes a call.

**[Insert page break here.]**

It's only a matter of hours before they're resuming their relationship on her bed. Instead of intercourse, though, they're fully dressed. Only kisses had been exchanged, though Jesse continues to swallow hard, his eyes half-closed, throughout their reconciliation.

Rachel gets the point. Teasing, however, is her specialty. It has been since she had mastered the art of _leaving him wanting more_ when she had refused to go farther than second base with any of her boyfriends, besides Finn, of course, but she chalks up those encounters to the throes of feeling alive, effectively upholding her "prude" status.

"Poor baby," coddles Rachel. In the next moment, she straddles him, swallowing his moans with a kiss.

The night carries on as you would expect from Rachel Berry and Jesse St. James. They discuss their public altercation not in words, but through song. 'Singing about it' really _can_ remedy any situation. Things seem to work themselves out on their own accord, so Jesse decides not to bring up what he had planned for them, knowing Rachel would fret and blame herself until she reduced herself to tears. In hushed tones, each in turn offers the truth.

The truth being that yes, Jesse had been sent by Shelby, but he had fallen in love with her—hard. And yes, Rachel may have been pinning for Finn, but she truly had loved Jesse. So, basically, both of them had entered the relationship with bad intentions, but two wrongs eventually made a right.

Eventually, they bite the bullet and commit.

**[Insert page break here.]**

It doesn't seem to be working, but not for lack of trying. The fact of the matter is, Rachel's simply too busy tied up in her education and Jesse hardly ever sees the light of day, considering he works practically 24/7 as a waiter and uses his free time to audition for shows, shows of which have yet to ask him for a callback.

You may wonder why Jesse, rich boy from Akron, may have to work tirelessly in order to make ends meet, but he has a reason—his reason being the estranged relationship with his family that formed when he moved to New York to pursue his Broadway dreams. No son of Archibald St. James was to make a name for himself as a performer instead of by pursuing a _suitable_ occupation and still call himself a St. James.

Really, every day was like an episode of Full House in that household.

Needless to say, a date hasn't happened in months due to their limited funds.

Not that Rachel is complaining. In place of the girl she was in high school, she likes to believe she's become someone who isn't so dependent on her boyfriend. Plenty of other things demand her attention, so she doesn't dedicate all her focus on her relationship. She's growing.

But, okay. In the spirit of full disclosure, maybe she would like to spend a little more time with her boyfriend. He was her boyfriend for a reason, wasn't he? Sure, Kurt fills the role of her confidant in the event Jesse has been tied up again, and the little cakes that the bakery on the corner makes does wonders in easing her loneliness, but that isn't enough.

So she takes matters into her own hands, and shortly after, she's regulated an itinerary.

Rachel has perfectly mapped out their dates, phone calls, work hours, classes, and rehearsals. She'd had to sacrifice her Introduction into the Culinary Arts class that she had begun to take downtown and a few hours of ballet, but it's worth it.

"I just want to make us work," she confesses when he doesn't say anything after she hands him the detailed paper and he discards it without really looking at it. "I'm scared that I'm losing you."

"Plus," adds Rachel, "when you're at all those Broadway auditions you probably see dozens of beautiful ingénues with talent that rivals, if not outshines, my own."

"Rachel Barbra Berry," he says, his hands finding her hips, drawing her closer. "I only have eyes for one girl."

She bows her head. "It's that slutty waitress who likes to wear tights as pants and looks like Mimi from RENT, isn't it?"

His laugh is possibly the most beautiful sounds she's heard in a long time.

**[Insert page break here.]**

Much to Jesse's chagrin, Rachel approaches Brody, and this time around, befriends him and claims she wants to remain on a platonic level. Brody doesn't seem to have a problem with that, even if they once had something between them.

Jesse, on the other hand, doesn't approve of the friendship. It may be because he considers Brody to be the college equivalent of Finn, only more coordinated and admittedly more talented, and therefore feels his deep-seated enmity is to be passed on to the new boy in Rachel's life. It may be because he gets to be around Rachel as often as he pleases, considering they share a number of classes together. It may be because Brody is a junior, the same age as he is, and had been admitted to NYADA without the four consecutive national championships that Jesse had achieved in his high school career, _and_ he's already been on Broadway, to boot. But it's most likely that Jesse's shaking in his boots because he feels that Brody could very easily become his replacement.

Only two months ago, Brody entered Rachel's sights and ultimately the two had endured a bit of a fling. He had to have meant something to Rachel if she was willing to contradict her own rule of not allowing herself to become involved in any romantic entanglements.

Jesse doesn't see himself as being in the wrong for creating a scene when he surprises Rachel at her dorm and catches her with her arms around Brody. The excuse of 'rehearsing' had fallen on deaf ears as he had stormed away. But he had forgiven her after she had called him fifteen times, sent him twice as many text messages, and had eventually pulled out the heavy artillery, dressed herself in the dress she knew he loved, let herself into his apartment and seduced him until he relented and concurred with her story.

Several other times he found himself suspicious of what Brody did with Rachel behind closed doors, but normally he was able to grin and bear it. He had worked too long and too hard for another chance to be with Rachel to blow it all on accusing her of infidelity that he had no proof of.

_She did it to you once_, the rodent voice in the back of his head said. _She'll do it again_.

He chooses to ignore that voice in favor of trusting his girlfriend. They haven't actually professed love to each other, but that's about to change.

**[Insert page break here.]**

It's the first night they've spent together in a long time. It's perfect—they ordered in take-out from that hole-in-the-wall vegan bistro down the block and Rachel had arrived at his little apartment armed with at least half of a dozen musicals.

Halfway through Funny Girl, he leans over and feeds her a bite of cheesecake, reveling in the feel of her mouth closed around his fingers. Just to tease him, he suspects, she takes her time before she releases him, sucking and kissing each finger. Before she knows it, they're watching the movie, but _not_ watching the movie. He's notably hard against her thigh, he's inside her, he's everywhere; she's moaning, she's screaming his name, she's falling off the edge of a precipice. Rachel Berry isn't sure when she's developed his itch that only Jesse can scratch, or when her prudish ways gave way to the insatiable sex fiend that had always been lurking underneath, but she's not able to complain.

All the money in the world couldn't buy this sort of happiness.

Being with Jesse was so close to perfect, but there was one thing that could make it all unquestionably perfect.

Three words. Eight letters.

Jesse's phone bleats, putting an end to the almost perfect moment. Rachel, being in closer proximity to the writhing device, leans over and answers.

Big mistake.

Her 'hello' is responded to with 'Jesse, baby, it's Brandy. Where are you?'

The decidedly female voice on the other end makes something deep within Rachel contract. The call is ended, she spares Jesse a hard look.

"Who the hell," she says dangerously, "is Brandy and why does she address you as 'baby'?"

Jesse starts, sitting up as though to reassure her, but she doesn't flinch. If there was one word that could define Rachel in that moment, it would be 'formidable'.

"I can explain," he starts, but is cut off by his girlfriend, who is practically on the verge of murder, if the look in her eyes is any indication.

"Are you cheating on me?" Her arms cross across her chest; her guard is up. The night has taken a turn.

He blanches. "I could ask you the same question," seethes Jesse, "Why is it that you spend so much time with Brody, anyway? What are you doing with him?"

"He's nice, Jesse," retorts Rachel, "not narcissistic like some people I know. I thought it would be nice to socialize with someone like that for a change."

"Really?" spits Jesse, "Classy, Rachel."

"You want to talk classy, Jesse? How is using another girl to fulfill your romantic endeavors not as bad as me trying to make a friend, when both you and I know that's no easy feat because people _don't like _me?"

Her eyes flash, his mirror hers. Neither budge. Neither wants to explain.

Jesse lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. He squeezes his eyes shut. "Rachel," he attempts, "Brandy—I met her when we were broken up. I'd moved to New York, last I knew you had chosen Finn."

"Yeah, Jesse, but it still hurts knowing—"

"What?" booms Jesse, "That I managed to have a life after you _broke my heart_?"

"—that I loved you, but yet you were still able to flip a switch like that and suddenly not feel the same way I did ever since—"

"I resent all of this, Rachel—"

"—I let you go."

There's silence. Jesse has his ideas about storming off into the cliché rain that had started to pour amidst their argument, but it's his apartment they're in, and he'll be damned if he's the one to admit defeat.

Especially since the past tense of love is hanging over his head.

Great minds think alike, however, and moments later she pushes past him, half-dressed and with his wool coat hanging on her bare shoulders to fend off the chill, out the door and into the rain.

"I never cheated on you," he whispers, head bowing.

* * *

**A/N:** We may have ourselves a three-part fic now. Reviews are love.


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